


We Are By-Products of a Lifestyle Obsession

by waywardrenegade



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Organized Crime, Gen, crime bros AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrenegade/pseuds/waywardrenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ondřej takes a minute to pull air into his lungs, to calm himself. His back’s pressed to the wall near the door as he tucks his head between his knees. If he were still an amateur, his heart would probably be pounding, trying to jump out of his chest, but Ondřej’s been in the business since before he could read. It’s all in a day’s work for the Pavelec family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are By-Products of a Lifestyle Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so bit of back story: Sergei and Anton are mob bosses who some (most) times don't see eye to eye. Ondřej is a thief for hire. He's rogue, not affiliated to any one group, but his family's worked with Anton and his men before. Cam's a hit man and Anton's new righthand man. For some reason (as in I've not figured it out myself yet), Sergei's got a bone to pick with Ondřej and wants to teach him a lesson. That's where this story starts.
> 
> Title's from Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club because reasons.
> 
> P.S. I have no idea what Ondřej's dad's actual name is and no amount of Googling would tell me, so I made something up.

Tiny beads of sweat are running down the nape of Ondřej’s neck, collecting in a pool at his shirt collar. His fingers are quick at work, twisting the lock pick nimbly. They don’t tremble or hesitate. He’s on high alert, ears straining to gather even the faintest sound. As he’s releasing the final pin in the lock, Ondřej hears the sharp click click click of dress shoes across the marble floor. He manipulates the lock pick one last time and swings the heavy door of 7E shut behind him silently just before the man, a Russian hitman named Valeri, discovers him.

Ondřej takes a minute to pull air into his lungs, to calm himself. His back’s pressed to the wall near the door as he tucks his head between his knees. If he were still an amateur, his heart would probably be pounding, trying to jump out of his chest, but Ondřej’s been in the business since before he could read. It’s all in a day’s work for the Pavelec family.

While Ondřej’s regaining his composure, he lets his guard down, idiotically. A gun barrel is pressed flush against the small of his back. He feels the chill from the metal seep into his skin through his linen shirt. As the saying goes, if he had a nickel for every time this happened, he’d be a rich man.

“If you’re smart, you’ll keep quiet. Don’t call for backup. Don’t fucking move,” a gruff voice tells Ondřej as its owner shoves him to his knees. Ondřej admires the man’s wingtips from his position; the way the leather is shined to perfection speaks to Ondřej’s own sense of pride.

“And if I’m not?” Ondřej can’t help but wonder aloud. His face is distorted in a sardonic smirk. He’ll humor the guy, pretend to be scared and submissive, and then he’ll give the man’s head one quick twist in the wrong direction. Ondřej will step over his corpse as he goes back to his mission.

The pistol digs further into his flesh in response. Ondřej hears the hiss of displeasure from the other man just before he speaks. “Guess it’s lucky for you that you’re not my target, eh?” he says softly, exhalation caressing Ondřej’s neck. 

As soon as the gun’s reholstered, the man helps Ondřej to his feet with a proffered hand. He’s tall, just an inch or two shy of Ondřej’s six foot two, but he’s lanky, more than twenty pounds lighter. Ondřej catalogues the man’s appearance on instinct: dark navy suit, clean lines and well-tailored; eyes the color of bitter chocolate that meet Ondřej’s defiantly; barely there stubble covering a baby face; and a set to his jaw that says he’s sizing up Ondřej too.

“You’re one of Anton’s boys, no?” Ondřej questions, steel blue gaze unwavering in his appraisal of the man.  
“Depends on who’s asking,” is the quick retort that springs from him. His stance has turned nonchalant, like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. Like his time could be better spent.

“Ondřej Pavelec, eldest son of Jakub. Surely you’ve heard of my family.” The arrogance drips from Ondřej’s every word, self-assured like everything he does. He can see the recognition flash across the man’s face as he swallows and rolls his shoulders back.

“Yeah, I’m Anton’s new right hand, Cam Ward. Let’s just say Marchand had a bit of an accident, shall we? And for what it’s worth, I’m not gonna shoot you when you’re not looking. Got enough people in this building who want to kill me already. Don’t need another.”

“Brad’s been dispatched? Fantastic. Never much cared for that prick. Anyhow, nah, I won’t off you either, Cam. Have a feeling you may be useful when Sergei’s goons bust down that door in 3, 2, 1…”

The expensive walnut splinters and stray bullets ricochet in a multitude of directions. Ondřej trusts that Cam's going to hold his own, so he draws his own weapon and quickly fires shots into the chests of the men in front. When he turns to check on Cam, he finds him standing among at least fifteen downed bodies. He’s got a pistol in each hand and a sharp grin plastered to his face.  
“Did you doubt me, Ondřej, eldest son of Jakub?” Cam questions mockingly, voice gone all syrupy sweet.

“Not for a second. Anton only accepts the best. So, you ready to take on the boss now?” Ondřej says, already reloading and striding toward what remains of the door.

Cam’s answering bark of laughter is menacing and dark, “Can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments, suggestions, and con crit are welcomed and encouraged. :))


End file.
